Akaashi's Perfect Buns
by JaydenNara
Summary: Bokuto should not be held accountable for anything that happens before he's had his coffee. He's not like those perverts on the train. Really! He's not! (one-shot, cross-posted on AO3.)


_I was asked to post this here, but you can find me on_ tumblr _and AO3. I mostly write in the Teen Wolf fandom as Little Spoon._

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 **Akaashi's Perfect Buns**

Contrary to popular belief, Bokuto was not a morning person. But who could be at four in the morning. Early morning practise was a stupid idea. No one was ever completely conscious, and at least once every practice, someone got tangled in the net when they walked into it. Usually Bokuto, but who was counting?

Okay, most of the team was. There was a tally etched into the side of a locker in the change room.

So, at four in the morning, half asleep, Bokuto staggered out his front door, still tugging on his jersey and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He needed a jolt of caffeine, and quick.

On the corner of his block, there was a little coffee shop run by a young couple. They mostly hired college students looking for work, and Bokuto liked their mochas. The perfect amount of chocolate and espresso. Straight coffee was just too bitter, and people tended to frown and wrinkle their noses when he added twenty packs of sugar to his coffee.

The bell over the door jingled when Bokuto pushed into the shop. He shuffled into line, watching his sneakers scuff the floor as he stifled a yawn.

That's when he saw it; the most glorious pair of buns he'd ever seen.

Bokuto couldn't help but stare. His eyes were glued to the perfectly sculpted ass encased in a pair of pressed black dress pants that left nothing to the imagination. Each cheek was a beautifully rounded swell that called to him.

Before his conscious mind caught up, Bokuto's hand had already reached out and cupped one cheek. It was firm and athletic, and just as perfect as Bokuto thought it would froze, hand still cupping this strangers ass, and blinked in shock at the perverseness of his own action. He had officially become one of those disgusting men on the train that groped women.

Bokuto froze, hand still cupping this strangers ass, and blinked in shock at the perverseness of his own action. He had officially become one of those disgusting men on the train that groped women.

Letting out an embarrassed whine, Bokuto looked up into a pair of stunning eyes wide with shock. "So pretty..." he murmured. His hand squeezed, but he quickly realized what he was doing and dropped his hand.

The stranger turned around fully. He was a few inches shorter than Bokuto with short, curly hair, and the dark suit looked amazing on his slender, but still obviously well-defined body.

Bokuto followed the path of the pink tongue that darted out, wetting the plump lips, and his attention immediately darted back to the intensity of those haunting eyes. The stranger cocked an eyebrow.

Bokuto jumped back with a loud squawk and arms flailing. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I haven't had my coffee and my brain isn't working, I mean, not that it ever is, or so my teammates tell me, and practise at five is such stupid idea. The coach is insane."

The entire shop was watching him now. A few office ladies were tittering politely behind their hands, and the workers seemed stuck between shock and amusement. The stranger seemed unmoved. His perfectly manicured eyebrow, gloriously perfect just like the rest of his body, was still arched.

"I swear, I'm not a pervert," Bokuto cried. He sank to his knees and clasped his hands together, begging the beautiful stranger to forgive him. "I don't go around groping women on trains. Really, I don't. I swear."

The stranger was clearly unimpressed with Bokuto grovelling on his knees and huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Your butt is so perfect. So round and... and I don't know what happened. I had the urge to touch it just to see if it was as firm as it looked, and it is. It's amazing. Your butt is so perfect, and you're so pretty, and oh my god, please don't kill me. I'll buy your coffee. As much as you want. For the rest of your life even. I'm the worst. I'm terrible. I'm a pathetic excuse for a human being, you should let me die."

"Then how would you buy my coffee?

"I..." Bokuto paused and looked up. The stranger's cheeks were lightly coloured with a pretty pink flush. For several long seconds, Bokuto blinked up at him in awe. "Buy coffee? You want... Oh!" Bokuto leapt to his feet. "I'll buy your coffee!"

"You did offer."

Bokuto paused. "I did?"

The stranger looked torn between amusement and annoyance, a conundrum Bokuto was all too familiar with from past experiences. Not everyone could handle him, and he was only running at half speed this early in the morning. His energy levels spiked later in the day.

Clearing his throat, the stranger hid a smirk behind his hand. "Somewhere between worshiping my butt and self-deprecation, I believe."

"Ah, well, in that case. Bokuto Koutarou," Bokuto said, thrusting his hand forward in an offering.

Instead of accepting the handshake, the stranger reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a crisp, clean business card. "Akaashi Keiji," he said, extending the card with two hands and a small, polite bow.

For a few seconds, Bokuto blinked owlishly at the card in Akaashi's hand before he eagerly accepted. "Your name is so pretty too," he crowed, inspecting the card closely. "Oh..." His shoulders fell. "I don't have one to give you. I mean, I have business cards. Kuroo made me order some, but I always forget them at home. They're really cool though, and say Bokuto Kotarou, wing spiker, Ace! He only made them for me because Kenma won't let him make any for him, even though he should. I don't know how his work hasn't made him, but he hates all the stupid rules and gets annoyed when you call him by his family name. Kenma that is, not Kuroo. Kuroo's name is Tetsuro, and sometimes I call him that, but it's weird because it's Kuroo, and I've always called him Kuroo like how Kenma calls him Kuro and-"

A quiet laughed halted Bokuto's rambling, and he stared open mouthed. It was a beautiful sound, even if it could barely be heard above the morning chatter around them.

"We should probably order," Akaashi pointed out. While they had been talking, the line had progressed, and the cashier was politely waiting for them to step forward.

Shoving the business card into his jacket pocket, Bokuto grabbed Akaashi's wrist and dragged him to the counter. "One caffe mocha and... and anything he wants! Do you want breakfast? I'll buy you food."

"Coffee is fine, Bokuto-san," Akaashi said, glancing down at where Bokuto was still tightly gripping his wrist. His cheeks were a little pink.

Bokuto babbled away while they waited. Their orders came quickly, but Akaashi continued to listen, patiently nodding and humming in agreement when appropriate while Bokuto gave an overly enthusiastic rundown of his team and why being a spiker was so cool.

"That sounds wonderful, Bokuto-san," Akaashi said with all sincerity, and Bokuto beamed at him, puffing up his chest a little with pride. "You must be very talented. Maybe I'll come to a game sometime, but if I don't leave soon, I'll be late for work."

Bokuto squawked in horror. "I've made you late! I'm the worse. I'm terrible," he lamented. His entire being drooped with sorrow. "You shouldn't talk to me anymore."

"I'm not late yet," Akaashi pointed out. "Besides, I have rather enjoyed our... conversation, even if you did grab my 'perfect' butt in the middle of a coffee shop."

"Really?" Bokuto dared to glance up, but his posture remained slumped.

"Yes. Text me. My number is on my card," Akaashi said, patting Bokuto on the shoulder as he passed him on his way to the door. "I rather look forward to you buying me coffee for the rest of my life."

Bokuto's jaw fell slack as he whirled around. "Ehhhhh?"


End file.
